


So Maybe We'll Spoon

by nonky



Series: So Maybe Series [1]
Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonky/pseuds/nonky
Summary: It was kind of nice to sleep over at her place, precarious though it was to be awake so near all the carbs in her kitchen. She bought bagels without even noticing the kcals or worrying about the sodium bloat. She was crazy, in a doctor diagnosed, no-judgement way. She made him feel crazy and choose things he knew would throw every careful plan over for whatever nonsense was brewing in the bizarre culture of West Covina.





	So Maybe We'll Spoon

Nathaniel J. Plimpton III was confused. West Covina did that to him, or maybe it was those devil winds the locals kept trying to tell him were trying to make him do things out of character and entirely beyond the very pale of the noble - and aggressively white - Plimpton name. 

He was tired of trying to explain logic and discipline to these people. The only time the wind ever told him what to do was while yachting, and even then it was a suggestion he could take or leave.

He wasn't used to being conflicted. He hated having an unfocused, gossiping staff of weirdos. He hated being a long drive from the nearest decent zoo. He hated questioning his moral character along with every value he'd honed like shaving down the hooves of his childhood pony to ensure the other children at dressage classes stayed out of his way.

He wondered briefly where his pony Foo-Foo was now. His father had assured him the retirement stable was top-notch but they had always been too busy to visit. 

He had been right about Rebecca Bunch and Josh. If the name wasn't a giveaway, all Joshes were obviously meant to be taken as seriously as professional surfers or lifelong learners. Nathaniel prided himself on learning worthwhile things once very well, then turning his efforts to being the best at everything forever until death came for him in a suitably appointed private aircraft. Dying like a Kennedy was the only acceptable way to die. 

He felt himself actually shrug into the bed, and winced as the motion disturbed the woman curled into his side. Normally he didn't worry about waking the night's companion, but he was trying to think. 

Rebecca didn't talk in bed as much as he'd feared she might, but she didn't not talk in bed, either. He had been enjoying the nice, quiet afterglow as she flopped over and scrunched her sleepy pout into his muscles. Her hair was a mess, she took on an overall blotchy flush after almost no foreplay that lasted for hours, and she had dropped off to sleep before he could execute his gentlemanly escape from her clutches. 

His variation of a sleep-clinch escape could work, but when he had started to move her hand came up in a cramped fist. His free hand rose to pet hers out of the tightly wound fist until she sighed and nestled closer. He had accidentally made eye contact with Ruth Gator Ginsburg, and rolled his eyes. But he had also not tried to move away again, and he supposed he was still cupping his hand over Rebecca's. It was creating the oddest sensation in his heart, ruining his entire biometric fingerprint for the week. His personal trainer was sucking down beta blockers from the stress.

He could take comfort in a few things. She did have pretty straightforward nipples, but her breasts were exactly what his grandfather had meant when the family had to pay the night nurse extra to ignore the commentary on her "bazooms." She had more endurance than Nathaniel would have thought, and a few times he had been genuinely taken off guard by a greedy, two-fisted grip of his ass. 

It was kind of nice to sleep over at her place, precarious though it was to be awake so near all the carbs in her kitchen. She bought bagels without even noticing the kcals or worrying about the sodium bloat. She was crazy, in a doctor diagnosed, no-judgement way. She made him feel crazy and choose things he knew would throw every careful plan over for whatever nonsense was brewing in the bizarre culture of West Covina.

Rebecca Bunch was a beloved fixture of a law office, adding her chaos to the cacophony of useless goals and wasted time. She had dedicated friends and an odd charisma that intrigued people even in the moments secondhand embarrassment should send them to the nearest exit.

She was warm. She couldn't be heartless to literally save her own life. She was a good lawyer but would never be a star lawyer. She actually believed in the law, and never pushed the bounds of precedent beyond the reasonable interpretation. She wasn't a cheater, and she was smart enough to get away with it.

Her eyes opened with a little moan, and she blinked at him. His mind went blank of every thought and he noticed everything about her with painful clarity. There was a moment of recognition as she lifted her head, the barest second they both had to recall he was replacing a childhood sweetheart she'd been expecting to spend her whole life loving.

"You're still here?" It was hurried instead of breathy, no theatrical accent or flirtation.

The legitimate surprise hurt him, and Nathaniel didn't know if it was a sympathetic pain for her vulnerability or a sudden empathy for every woman he'd fake coughed awake to put into a cab in the middle of the night. He'd been used to women who didn't seem capable of real, deep emotions. Nearly losing Rebecca had forced him to admit anyone could feel afraid and rejected. He had to wonder if all his minimalist dates went away suffering any fraction of the pain she'd been in when she tried to kill herself.

He'd never thought to be careful of feelings. No one had been careful of his, and he would have been offended they would presume his weakness. Nathaniel was in a foreign country, unable to speak the language and trying to use body language without screwing up.

"I thought I'd stay," he said quietly. "I know I'm on Paula's side of the bed, but I won Rock-Paper-Scissors for it and you locked the bedroom door."

Rebecca nuzzled into his chest as he stroked down her hair, relaxing. "Yeah, it's fine. I mean, it's not safe for you eat anything here because she hates you for winning. She probably poisoned anything green except Heather's avocados. I might have, like, some trail mix you can pick almonds out of if you're hungry."

Maybe the hollow, fluttery feeling he was getting would be fixed by washing off some fatty roasted almonds and splurging on a few apple slices. He reached over the bed and brought up a shirt for Rebecca.

"I could eat," Nathaniel agreed, gently nudging her away before he sat up. "Hey, tomorrow can you ask Tim to stop bringing all his excess avocados to the office? I don't care how well his tree is doing. I'd talk to him but he's really leaning into the gentleman farmer vibe. He bought a novelty tie with little tractors."

Rebecca snagged the shirt and pulled it on. "At least he's stopped asking everybody if we've been consistently disappointed by his performance."

She slid to his side of the bed and waited while he pulled his boxers on. "It would have been sexual harassment if he hadn't been so Canadian about it," he agreed. "I'm glad you're back. I need you to help me manage these people. It was a . . . mess when you were gone."

Rebecca's smile was brief but her walk was smug as she led the way to the kitchen. "It's nice being at work. I mean, except for Karen. And George kind of has an attitude with me now. I don't know where he gets off."

She unlocked the door, looked down for sleeping friends and found it clear. Her hand swung back as an afterthought and Nathaniel caught it and held it.

"I'll fire him," he said immediately. "George is fired."


End file.
